Night fell upon us, and as the woods turned pitch-black, I was reminded once more of just how different the darkness was in a world without light pollution. Our captors used torches to light the way, affording those behind them very little in the way of illumination. Starlight sparkled above, but their soft glittering was little help. The sound of our soft footfalls and a choir of insects heralded our progress, but the only other noise was the occasional rustling of bushes. I about jumped out of my skin every time, but neither our captors nor the girls seemed to pay it much mind.

Is this where I tell myself that it was just the wind?

Whenever any of us dared to pause, the wild catgirls would butt us back into line with the blunt of their spears. We would wear the bruises for days, and it was starting to piss me off.

“Where are we going?” I asked.

“To Jazz,” a black-haired one to my left answered. “She is the one who leads our group.”

“And this… Jazz is going to decide our fate?”

The catgirl smiled and said nothing. I set my jaw and swallowed my reply.

After a few more minutes of walking through the darkness, we came upon an enormous iron gate with double doors. The spires along the top were fined to sharpened points, glittering maliciously in the torchlight. One of the gates was missing the top hinge and dug into the ground at an awkward angle.

What a shoddy job. Is no one here seriously able to fix this thing? They spent the time turning it into a weapon; they could have at least straightened the damn door.

“Is this your clubhouse?” I asked.

The black-haired girl glanced at me with a frown.

I sighed and tried again. “Your hideout?”

“You could call it that,” a red-headed girl at the front said. “We prefer to call it home.” She neared the gate and bucked her spear into the ground two times, hard. We all stopped while we waited for the girl at the head of the pack to release the chain around the gate. I took this time to check on the others.

Cannoli was closest at a single catgirl away. Her head was bowed, and she wore a sullen expression. Keke was right beside her, casting glances my way every so often. She seemed to be distracted, though I couldn’t imagine by what. All I could see of Ravyn was her hat, while Tristan and Ara were too far back to get a visual.

I wonder if Ara is devising ways to get out of this. One look at her focused features said she was.

“Come along,” said the redhead.

The group ushered us in, and we continued along a dirt road. Flanking us were numerous box-shaped buildings. They reminded me a bit of Badyron, though maybe a few steps down in quality. There were similar marks of chipped paint, and chunks of wood and stone were missing from their walls. However, unlike Badyron, these buildings were barely livable.

As we walked, I noticed the fence wrapped around the entire perimeter. With the size of the dwellings and the expansive protective barrier, it finally dawned on me. “Are we in Catania?”

“We are,” the redhead stated flatly.

“Guess it’s seen better days,” I mumbled. “How is the Defiled threat?”

The redhead hit the ground with her spear two times and turned to me. “You ask a lot of questions that I don’t believe I have the authority to answer. Why don’t you ask Jazz instead?” It was less a question, more of a demand.

Her tone put me on edge. “Sorry.” I looked away.

“Let’s get a move on,” she snapped.

If Venicia lost its upkeep and was attacked by the Defiled for about a decade, it would look just like Catania. Most of the run-down estates had a smattering of broken windows, and we had to have passed by at least five or six abandoned storefronts by now with ripped awnings and smeared paint. Despite the dilapidated appearance, I found it pretty easy to imagine kittengirls playing in the streets, merchants peddling from their stalls, and Bells readily exchanged with locals and travelers.

“We’re here,” said the leader. At least, I assumed the redhead was the leader. She was the one always ready with the quips.

She led us to a trap door. With the blunt of her spear, she tapped at the door once, then thrice, then once again, waiting about a second in between each tap. Seconds later, I heard the familiar sound of metal scraping against wood, and then the door slowly creaked open.

“You may enter,” whispered a squeaky, and not-at-all intimidating voice from below.

The redhead frowned. “Cecilia, you are not on guard duty today. Get the hell away.” The pitter-patter of feet scurrying away echoed below, and the leader snapped open the entrance with her spear. “Come along.”

I wondered when the hell we’d get to meet this “Jazz.” My stomach was cramped with hunger, and my throat was parched. This seemed like an awful lot of work just to see one person. We walked in single file down a staircase that brought back bitter memories of the cave we just left. I shivered. The descent took some time, but eventually, we reached another room.

This one was huge. My eyes had to adjust from the sudden bright light. Sconces with torches hung from the walls in what felt like a giant dome. There were numerous pathways and rooms, some of them a little less welcoming than others. From where I stood, I caught sight of lines of cots, rooms filled with storage containers, and one lined with prison cells that held ferocious-looking catgirls.

Please don’t throw me in a cell.

Our arrival caught the attention of several catgirls who were standing guard with their spears held at their side. Most of them didn’t seem to care. But a few abandoned their posts to get a closer look.

One with dark brown hair tied into a braid approached. “Sanaia! Who are these people?” Her eyes lit up at the sight of me. “A man?”

The redhead sighed. At least I know her name now. “Not now, Marianne. I need to take them to Jazz.”

Marianne laughed. “But they look harmless.”

Sanaia procured my axe from her belt. “And this? Does this look harmless?”

Marianne shrugged and waved her spear around. “I got one. Make me a criminal too?”

Finally, someone with some sense around here.

“Look, I don’t have time for this. Our orders are clear. Step aside.”

Marianne rolled her eyes. “Whatever you say.”

Sanaia holstered my axe back around her belt. As she led us to a tunnel, I caught Marianne winking at me on our way.

Glad they’re not all wild.

As we proceeded deeper, several of our captors left without a word, leaving only a single girl per person. One extra carried a furiously squawking Ball Gag in a sack, but Desiree and Buttons were allowed to remain with their keepers. I silently toyed with the idea of escape, but when I couldn’t come up with how we’d safely fight our way out of the cave without killing hundreds of innocents, I resigned myself to my fate. Maybe Jazz would listen to reason.

Sanaia took us down more winding pathways, but it was a much shorter trek than it was down the staircase. We approached a rickety old door, and I could hear the sound of muffled voices through the splintered wood.

Sanaia knocked with one knuckle and waited.

“Enter,” came another’s voice.

Sanaia pushed open the door and welcomed herself in, grabbing me by the bicep and leading me across a narrow red carpet. It was ludicrous how nice it looked compared to the bare walls of the rest of the cavern, even if the fabric was frayed at the ends and littered with moth holes. Sanaia brought me to the end of the carpet then forced me down on one knee.

Okay, this is a little much.

And then I saw her. Upon a shoddy-looking throne of gold, or brass, or something—I couldn’t tell, the thing was littered with knicks and dirt and who knew what else—sat a catgirl with long, luscious red locks of hair, firetruck-red lips, bronze skin, and piercing gold eyes. She picked at the corner of her mouth with a fingernail, her expression impossible to discern.

“What prize do you bring me, Sanaia?” she asked.

“Jazz, I bring you a number of suspicious individuals who were hunting around the outskirts of Catania. I thought them dangerous, and so my team has brought them to you,” Sanaia said without ever lifting her head.

I couldn’t bow. Couldn’t look at anything else in the room. Holy shit.

“Like what you see?” Jazz rested her head on the tips of her fingers, a slow smile curling the corners of her perfect mouth.

That was the understatement of the century. She had generous curves and wore thin golden bangles around her wrists. Golden rings pierced her ears and eyebrow, and her tail swayed back and forth behind her with a hypnotic rhythm. Sheer black fabric crossed between her cleavage before resting into a long skirt that slit high on the thigh. Jazz caught my gaze, slowly lifting one long leg to cross it over the other and affording me a better view of her thigh. I was able to catch a glimpse of her lacy undergarments.

Resist the temptation.

I could feel Keke, Cannoli, and Ravyn’s eyes boring into the back of my head. I cleared my throat.

“Yes, er, Mistress? Jazz? My Queen? How should I call you?” My question was met with Sanaia’s elbow between my ribs.

“Do not patronize her,” Sanaia hissed.

“I’m not!” I gasped.

Jazz chuckled beneath her breath. “Jazz will do nicely.” Her gaze ran the length of my body, then darted to the numerous others in the crowd. “And what of you girls? For what reason do you trespass on my land?”

“Your land?” Ravyn’s tone was incredulous. A thud followed her words, and a yelp escaped her lips.

“Please, don’t hurt any of them,” I pleaded.

“My questions first. Your time will come,” Jazz said, inspecting her manicured fingers. Compared to the dirt-bathed catgirls that had captured us, this woman looked like royalty.

“W-we came here to help in the Defiled defense effort,” squeaked Cannoli. “Er, Your Majesty.”

Jazz laughed, the melodious sound echoing against the chamber walls. “Now, there is an offer we’ve never received. Actually…” Her expression turned dark, and her eyes flickered to Tristan. “Take that boy away. He is the ‘man’ of this island, is he not?” The word ‘man’ could have easily been replaced with ‘insect’ or ‘leech’ with the way she said it.

“Y-yes, I—” Tristan stammered.

“Take him and his maid away. Perhaps he may atone for his negligence here.”

“What?” Tristan’s voice echoed against the walls. “B-but I haven’t even done anything! Can’t we talk about this first?”

“We just did.”

“If I may,” came Ara’s voice, “I’d much prefer that you take only me instead. Tristan has done only what is told of him; I am more at fault.”

Jazz rolled her eyes. “I suppose ignorance truly is bliss. You think it should be so easily forgiven?”

Silence followed. Ara cleared her throat. “Please, Mistress, if you would just listen to me—”

“No. Away with them both,” said Jazz.

“Wait!” Ara’s protests went unheard. Two of the guards snatched her and Tristan and carried them from the chamber.

“She has a point—” I began, my words met by the end of another spear. Goddammit, come on!

Jazz looked at me with heavily lidded eyes but remained silent until Ara’s cries disappeared behind the slamming door. “Now. Back to business. You. White-haired one. Stand.”

There was a shuffling of unsteady feet on the carpet and then Cannoli’s timid voice. “Y-yes?”

“There isn’t a ‘Defiled defense.’” Jazz’s tone suddenly turned sour, and the look on her face gave me the impression that one small misstep could mean a dagger through the heart. “The defense fell years ago. If you are all the help Venicia could send, then I’m happy to send your pretty head back in thanks.”

Cannoli made a series of uncomfortable squeaks and hums, shuffling her feet and fingers.

“Let me explain—” I tried again, taking a thrust to the back of my skull. Lights exploded in my vision, and I groaned.

“I trust no man. This one seems willing to tell the full tale of it,” Jazz crooned, voice balancing on the edge of a blade.

Cannoli spoke up. “U-um! Venicia d-didn’t send us! W-we came here because we— I mean, just our group, wanted to help you.”

A half-truth, but I’ll take it.

“Cannoli,” Keke whispered in a reassuring voice, “it’s okay.”

“How monumentally virtuous of you.” Jazz readjusted her legs, smiling at me for one brief moment. “You know, your standing here, your bravery to come here bound by my guards, to stand up for your values and preach your peace has truly swayed my heart.”

“R-really?” Cannoli squeaked.

“No. Not really.” Jazz made her way down the stairs from her throne to stand in front of Cannoli with all the grace of a runway model. I looked to my side just in time to see her cup Cannoli’s chin in her hand. “You don’t have a single scar on your body, I’d gamble.” Jazz growled. “Never been cut open by the edge of a blade, never watched someone you love die before your eyes.” And then her voice escalated, “Never been beaten by your own flesh and blood! Betrayed and left for dead!” Jazz slapped Cannoli across the face, and it took everything I had not to jump up and tackle this bitch to the ground.

“Hey! Hands off!” cried Ravyn. “I’ll burn you alive, you stank-ass bitch!”

“Quiet!” bellowed Cannoli. “Please, Ravyn!”

Angry tears slid from the corner of Keke’s eyes. I balled up my hands and clenched my teeth.

We obeyed. Not even a whisper. Then Jazz asked, “Have you ever drank water from a sewer? Eaten rotten food? Hoped that maybe, just maybe, you wouldn’t vomit up lunch that day? Do you know how hard it is to find food right now? Just to keep everyone alive?” Jazz clicked her tongue. “You don’t know a thing about the real world.”

Cannoli balled her fists and locked Jazz’s gaze. “Let me help.”

This seemed to set Jazz off her guard. “Excuse me?”

“Let me help! I can’t fight very well, I’m not a good hunter, and I’m even very smart. All I can really do is blind stuff and light up caves.” Cannoli chewed her lower lip, a dozen expressions passing through her eyes. She didn’t seem like she was sad or upset—no, it looked as though she was disappointed. It was how I looked whenever I was afraid I’d let my parents down. “But I’m a great cook,” Cannoli continued. “If you would let me, I can transform your trash into treasure. And I’ll teach you how to do it, too. I can—I can at least do that much for you.”

Cannoli puffed out her chest and straightened her back. “And I know Matt, Keke, Ravyn, Ara, and Tristan feel the same way. We just want to help. So, please,” Cannoli took Jazz’s hands into her own, “please let us help you.”

Jazz studied her intently, searching her face for, well, something. Validity? One of the guards raised their spear to strike Cannoli, but Jazz shook her hands free and held up one hand to stay her, then clicked her tongue. “You don’t go anywhere or do anything without the supervision of a guard. I don’t trust a Saoirse-damned soul in this entire land outside of my clan. Is that understood?”

“Yes, miss.” Cannoli nodded.

“Alright.” Jazz crossed her arms and sighed. “What did you have in mind?”

I had to stop myself from laughing. I couldn’t believe what she’d just pulled off.

Cannoli rolls a natural twenty for diplomacy.